Worn Against His Skin
by KazRed
Summary: "It burned where she touched. Physical marks that slashed a certain day, month and year and burned every single time that date came to pass. He told her that sometimes it'd hurt, almost a good hurting." He'd seen everything, and wore it on his skin in the form of scars, scars he kept hidden away from her. But she wanted to know why it burned. SPOILERS, be warned. Jason/OC.


**AN: TAKEN FROM MY TUMBLR - (This is gonna be a short one-shotty involving OC because I'm here editing some chapters and caught dem Jason feels. Didn't I tell you I love this man? Now you know. Oh, and mind my principles, still haven't fought the habit. Probs a mix of New52/Arkhamverse Todd (since I'm not as familiar w/ New52 Jas))**

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She only stared, her freckled face relaxed of any emotion except for subtle fascination. It was a dark night, a thundery night, the kind of night that'd stop you from leaving your safehouse and cuddle up to someone instead. And judging by how strong the winds were blowing, Jason had almost let out a sigh of comfort. Of course she laughed about that for a couple minutes.

But no, it was the first time he had taken off his shirt in her presence. It wasn't like they were ready to completely make the room heavy with sweat and burning desire, but he must've felt courageous enough to take it off after months of their mutual partnership. And being her, she couldn't take her eyes off his body.

Jason stopped in the motion of taking his shirt off to glare at her, whose cloudy lilac eyes seemed to be tracing areas of his abdomen. "What," he smirked. "You like what you see?" As he draped his shirt on the nearby chair, a frown decorated her face. How could he be so…optimistic about what she was seeing? Unless he was talking about her admiring the definition of his body, then maybe…

"You've never showed me…" she trailed off. She knew his entire body was scarred but not to this extent. "Your body…you…"

He peered down at himself before meeting eyes with her, shrugging off her concern before leaving her line of sight. "Alias, it's nothing for you to worry about. Trust me." She heard the sounds of a fridge being opened and the rustling of cans clicking together, and she sighed sadly when she realised yet again Jason was putting up a wall between the two of them. After everything they've been through, the shit they've experienced together, and he hid his scars away from her. Why? Was he afraid of losing her as much as she was afraid he'd leave her again?

The sky applauded angrily, and the rain poured even more frantically.

"Jason."

"Hm?"

"Come for a minute."

"Why? What's up-"

"Just…please." Maybe that's why the lights were dimmed lower than normal tonight, Alias pondered. The only lighting they were getting was really from the lightning that ruptured outside. After the last safe house was blown up by a bunch of mercenaries with a target on Jason's head-as if it has been the first time that has happened-Alias's current attire consisted of one of his tees and underwear. It was really comfortable and smelled like him. He smelled good, smoky yet refreshing. Almost intoxicating.

He finally answered her calling and sauntered to the bed, drinking a bit more of his beer before setting it on the bedside table and make a surprised sound when he felt her hands on his back and turned to glance off his shoulder. "Hey," he lightly chuckled as he caught her arms, his cigarette pursed between his lips. "What's wrong? You're acting weird."

"It's not me, it's you. You've never told me that…you didn't finish your story and said that you'd finish it when we have time. Right now, we have all night and the satellite's down. So unless you want to play in the rain…" Alias closed the gap between them to go for a hug from behind. "Tell me everything."

He didn't speak for a moment and she appreciated the fact that he didn't just push her away for prying too deep into something personal and sensitive. "You really wanna know?" he warned her, letting go of her hands to exhale a cloud of smoke before burning out the cigarette in the ashtray. He wanted to make sure that she wasn't going to run away, and the reassuring embrace confirmed that.

He loosened his shoulders as her hands started from his neck, fingers tracing the jagged lines that stretched down to his pectoral muscles then branched out to even more jagged lines. They were unusually smooth, almost doll-like, and felt deeper than what they actually looked like. His eyes were cast away from her as he told his story, the story about the relentless torturing from the Joker that killed him; Alias gasped lowly as she ran over the bullet wound that took his life away. It burned where she touched. Physical marks that slashed a certain day, month and year and burned every single time that date came to pass. He told her that sometimes it'd hurt, almost a good hurting. He had placed his hand on top of hers, in the middle of his chest, and curled his fingers so that he was holding her hand again and brought it up to kiss the curve of her palm.

Then he talked about how he was resurrected by being dropped in something called a Lazarus Pit, but it brought more than his life back. It brought back his memories of the brutality he had to take, the maniacal laughter with every strike of that crowbar, the white-hot waves of agony when the purple-suited man pressed the brand on his face. Then he mentioned Batman's name and his voice began to tremble, words like hate and revenge melding with the story and at that moment, she had figured it out. Batman wasn't there to save him, and wasn't there when he needed him. Even after he wanted to kill him, he had fallen into an abyss of forgiveness and wanted to give Bruce one more chance…

and he disappears. Just like that.

By now he was crying and so was she, upset at that fact that she wasn't there to save him. Wasn't there to stop his death, wasn't there to stop him tainting his morals. She just wasn't there, and it ripped a chunk of her soul knowing that.

"You never wanted this, Jason," she sniffed as the rain calmly pattered against the window. She had changed position and sat beside him, her hands cupping his damp face. "You were never given the chance…to redeem yourself. You were just a boy…used as a conduit."

"But you don't understand-" His voice trembled again as his eyes fell to her legs.

"Jason…please…I don't care about your scars or why they're here. I just don't them to overpower you…because I don't want to lose you again…"

He peered up in soft surprise. "..Alias…"

"I already lost you once…" She tried for a smile under her teary facade and her hands glided down to the bullet wound. "These scars…your scars…are beautiful. I don't want you to hide them from me anymore. Promise?" His eyes, piercing blue and glittery with tears. She knew Jason was a man of emotion, but she's never seen him cry like this. It meant so much that he finally opened up to her.

Jason moved so fast she had lost her balance and they fell against the bed and he slipped his head under the crook of Alias's elbow, got her legs and coiled it around his waist. He didn't say anything after that, just snuggled up to her chest to hear the rhythm of her heart and she only responded by tightening the lock on him and planted several kisses on his forehead.

"Your pain is my pain," she whispered. "Remember that."

Jason had seen a war, fought a war, won a war and wore it against his skin.

And that's what she loved about him.


End file.
